Last Lift of the Day
He laughs into the rear
vision mirror when you ask
his job. Tulips page past:
vision mirror when you ask
his job. Tulips page past:
yellow plastic, sunset,
dried-blood red. And sakura:
blooming late, worried
dried-blood red. And sakura:
blooming late, worried
under heavy pink.
‘I’m a host,’ he says,
lights a Lark cigarette,
‘I’m a host,’ he says,
lights a Lark cigarette,
‘I entertain women
at clubs.’ The car plunges
into the tunnel, tiny lights fur
at clubs.’ The car plunges
into the tunnel, tiny lights fur
the sides of your eyes,
you splash into white. A swatch
of pines crooks elbows
you splash into white. A swatch
of pines crooks elbows
at the sky, a striped spire sends
clouds from a chemical factory.
‘So what do the women want?’ you ask.
clouds from a chemical factory.
‘So what do the women want?’ you ask.
‘To look, be touched,
to touch.’ Blue smoke
escapes the window gap,
to touch.’ Blue smoke
escapes the window gap,
kawara roofs shine by;
an old woman’s dragging
gumboots through a flooded
an old woman’s dragging
gumboots through a flooded
rice paddy at the foot
of a giant dam.
‘You wanna try?’
of a giant dam.
‘You wanna try?’
